


Glass

by Serendipitous_dreamer42633



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, based on a scene in order of the Phoenix, potential smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-11-08 03:55:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17973989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serendipitous_dreamer42633/pseuds/Serendipitous_dreamer42633





	1. Angry lullabies

_Lif_ _e is a velvet crowbar_  
 _Hitting you over the head  
You're bleeding but you want more  
This is so like you I said  
Put yourself on back to bed  
  
You're like crack to me I don't want to leave  
I'm watching you sleep, afraid you'll stop breathing  
My baby’s on his eight life darling  stayin’ with him_ _till_ _the_ _morning_

_\- ‘Velvet Crowbar’, Lana Del Rey_

 

‘Please help me’ Harry tried to say. ‘Please. _Please_.’ The voices in his head became angrier, louder, and he felt searing fury building up behind his eyes. Dumbledore still had his back to him, muttering dully, and Harry felt the hurt and misery that had been tugging at his heart for so long, explode, all directed at the man pottering around in front of him. It was _his_ fault. Harry’s fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms. He felt his breathing quicken, hot blood rushing in his ears. His vision narrowed, cutting out the other people in the room, white heat blocking everything but Dumbledore. Harry took a step forward, wobbling, irritation throbbing at his temple. His breaths came in awkward ragged gasps of rage, desperate to provoke the calm older man. His fingers ached to hurt him; to tear Dumbledore’s gown from him, to rip into his flesh with his own shaking hands. He longed to cause the headmaster physical pain, suffering, eager to show him the physical and emotional agony that Harry faced every time, every day. He felt something break within him - “ _Look_ _at_ _me!_ ”

 

The windows smashed, shards of glass raining onto Dumbledore’s back. Harry expected him to shield himself, but the older man did not. He let the glass rip his robes, tearing his exposed skin until Harry finally saw spots of blood emerge. Dumbledore stood still, the blood running down his back, and said calmly; “you are quite gifted at wandless magic.”

 

Panting with adrenaline and the effort of controlling his distress, Harry glared at Dumbledore’s back, trying to ignore the tears of hot sadness that leaked from his eyes. “Why won’t you turn around and face me?” Harry’s voice cracked, and he found himself sinking to his knees in despair, exhausted.

“You must be tired”, Dumbledore continued, and Harry saw a bed appear next to him.

Bitterly, Harry said, “I’m not”, and grunting, struggled to his feet again.

“Lie down?” Dumbledore suggested, but Harry shook his head, determined to disobey him.

“Lie down.” Dumbledore said again. This time, he knew it was an order.

“No.” Harry said quietly.

“Lie down.” Dumbledore’s calm voice had an edge of anger to it, and although Harry still shook his head, he felt his defiance leaving him, and a nervousness taking its place.

“I don’t think you’ll have the nerve to defy me another time.” Dumbledore told him, his voice casual, but Harry heard the steeled iron in it. He had never seen the headmaster angry, and an uncomfortable tingling lodged in his stomach.

“Lie down Harry.” Dumbledore commanded, vaguely gesturing to the bed.

“No.” Harry whispered, fear shaking his body.

Slowly, Dumbledore turned around to face the younger man. “Harry.” The headmaster sighed heavily and motioned for the Weasleys and Mcgonagall to leave the room. “Watch the glass,” he added to their retreating backs, “and tell Severus not to bother.”

Harry stared down at the floor and tried to ignore the bed in the middle of the room. He heard Dumbledore’s footsteps approaching him, and tensed, readying himself. The man stopped opposite him, and pointed silently to the bed.

Harry turned his head, and Dumbledore sighed again.

The headmaster walked closer, so that his breath tickled Harry’s ear when he spoke, “Harry. You are trying my patience this evening.”

“I know sir.” He whispered. Dumbledore’s voice was very low in his ear, and something stirred in Harry, causing a blush to rise to his cheeks.

“I want you to lie on the bed.” Dumbledore said quietly and slowly, as though Harry did not understand.

Harry felt a fresh wave of annoyance rise over him, but then Dumbledore’s fingers brushed against his arm, and the anger subsided.

“Will you lie down Harry?” He asked softly.

Without replying, the younger man gingerly lowered himself down onto the bed. Immediately, he felt calmed, and looked up at Dumbledore questioningly.

The man shook his head in answer, “I didn’t charm the bed, you are just very tired my boy.”

Harry nodded trustingly, and let his head drop onto the pillow.

“That’s right.” The older man murmured reassuringly, sitting on the bed beside Harry.

Harry stared at the man opposite him through sleepy eyes, noticing with comfort that Albus’ familiar blue eyes twinkled again.

“I am not angry Harry.” Dumbledore said, as though reading his mind.

“Dumbledore-“ He began, but Dumbledore touched his finger to Harry’s lips and winked. Harry felt a twinge shoot up his body, but the headmaster only winked and said, “we’ll leave the glass for the morning, shall we?”

 

 


	2. Gloves

_Ah but you got away, didn't you babe_  
 _You just turned your back on the crowd  
You got away, I never once heard you say  
I need you, I don't need you  
I need you, I don't need you  
And all of that jiving_ _around_

_\- ‘Chelsea Hotel #2’, Leonard Cohen_

 

Harry woke to the faint sound of birds humming and sunlight streaming through the cracked widows. He felt oddly peaceful, and more rested than he had felt in a long time.

“No nightmares.” A low voice murmured appraisingly.

“No.” Harry agreed, unable to conceal the surprise in his expression.

He twisted around to see Dumbledore sitting at his desk, looking at him.

Harry stumbled hastily to his feet, and Dumbledore smiled and waved his wand lazily, conjuring an armchair opposite the table. Harry grinned and walked towards it, Dumbledore reminding him to “watch the glass”, warningly.

The younger man sat down opposite Dumbledore and twiddled his thumbs awkwardly. The headmaster picked up a quill and began scratching writing onto old musty-smelling parchment.

After a minute, he glanced up at Harry, his eyes twinkling. “Breakfast?” He suggested, and Harry watched gnarled fingers ring a bell on the table.

A second later, several house-elves appeared, laden with trays and plates. The smell of pancakes, toast, kippers and bacon flooded the room.

Dumbledore smiled at Harry’s awed expression. “Hungry?”

Harry nodded eagerly, the sheer exhaustion from yesterday replaced by ravenous hunger, and he reached for bacon, hash browns and egg. Dumbledore, however, eyed Harry’s plate with barely concealed disgust, and heaped stacks of pancakes on his plate, followed by maple syrup and chocolate sauce.

Harry gaped at Dumbledore and the headmaster winked. “I’ve quite a sweet-tooth.”

Harry nodded wordlessly and picked up his fork.

They ate in silence, although Dumbledore murmured his appreciation for the food occasionally in little whispers that made Harry’s heartbeat quicken.

Harry finished before the headmaster and Dumbledore grinned, “ah to have the appetite of a young man! - any more?” Harry smiled sheepishly and reached for a slice of toast and marmalade.

“Shouldn’t I be in lessons, professor?” Harry asked, suddenly aware of the clock ticking on the wall behind Dumbledore.

“Oh, no, my boy, I’ve told your teachers you won’t be in their lessons.”

Harry grinned. He was missing double potions! Dumbledore, seeming to read his mind, continued, “instead, you’ll be helping me with a few chores.”

Harry stared at him, wanting him to expand.

“Like starting off by clearing away the glass, I suppose.” The headmaster gestured to the remains of the window on the floor.

Harry flushed, embarrassed. “I’m sorry about last night professor-“

“That’s quite alright Harry.” Dumbledore interrupted. “But apologising won’t mean it will clean up itself.”

“No.” Harry agreed, guilt settling in his stomach.

“In fact,” Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to shine from under his glasses, “we’ll make that your first job, shall we?”

“Uh okay.” Harry replied uncertainly.

With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore whisked the plates away, and a pair of pink rubber gloves appeared on the table.

“Pink?” Harry asked him.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Would you prefer purple Harry? Just say the word-“

“N-no, no.” Harry stuttered, “pink is fine.”

“Good good.” Albus hummed under his breath, “I daresay they’ll suit you perfectly.”

Harry blushed in reply and gingerly put them on, feeling the material mould into his skin. He settled himself near the glass and began to pick shards up, throwing them into a bin that Dumbledore conjured.

Albus pushed his chair back and walked towards the large oak door.

“Professor -” Harry began.

“Harry?” Dumbledore smiled kindly.

“Why can’t we use magic to vanish the glass?”

Dumbledore looked thoughtful, and then said, “because that way, no one would learn anything would they?”

Harry frowned. “I’d get very good at vanishing spells.”

Dumbledore chuckled, a low rich vibration that sent a shiver down Harry’s spine.

“I’ve no doubt you would my boy, but you do look particularly lovely on your hands and knees.”

Before Harry could reply, the headmaster added, “but do be careful Harry, I wouldn’t want you to injure yourself.”

Harry nodded, his trousers feeling tighter than usual.

“I’ll be back soon.” Dumbledore said. Then, he vanished, leaving Harry alone with Fawkes and the glass.

 


	3. Leather armchairs

On his knees, Harry crawled forwards tentatively, trying to avoid the shards of glass jutting out from the ripped carpet. He winced at the torn carpet, annoyed with himself for letting his anger get so out of control. He picked up the larger pieces of glass, and then agonisingly slowly, searched for the smaller pieces, squinting behind his glasses. His mind wandered to the headmaster; what did Dumbledore mean by saying he looked ‘lovely on his hands and knees’? His stomach knotting and warm heat pooling in his stomach, Harry blushed, desperately hoping that somehow, the headmaster was complimenting him sexually. He shook his head, accidentally pricking himself on the glass. He debated asking Dumbledore when he got back, but then he felt so foolish and embarrassed by the idea that he convinced himself not to.

 

When Dumbledore did get back, the glass was safely in the bin, Fawkes was asleep, and Harry was resting in the armchair opposite Dumbledore’s desk, his glasses skewed, black hair unruly, eyes half-closed.

Dumbledore smiled fondly and sat down opposite Harry, taking out a long feather quill.

The younger boy stared blearily at the headmaster, “whatya doin’?”

Dumbledore chuckled softly, a rich sound that seemed to vibrate around the room and caused Harry to squirm in his chair.

The uncomfortable pressing of tight trousers against his full bladder suddenly made Harry feel much more awake, and he sat up straighter.

“I’m writing, Harry.” The man said, a lazy smirk flickering across his face.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Never would have guessed.” He said dryly.

Dumbledore glanced at him from under his half-moon spectacles and snickered in amusement. “Is there something you want, my boy?”

“Well, I-“ Harry looked down at his lap awkwardly, “I sort of need to go to the bathroom.”

“Sort of?” Dumbledore echoed, smiling mischievously.

“Uh-“

“So you can ‘hold it in’, so to speak, a little longer then?” Dumbledore’s eyes glittered, and Harry gulped nervously.

“Well, I-, see, Professor-“

“I’m glad.” Dumbledore interrupted. “Why don’t you come here?” The headmaster motioned the space next to him, and Harry gingerly stood from his chair, legs stiff and bladder heaving painfully.

Dumbledore set down his quill carefully and said; “Harry, I’ve got to go and do the night-duty on the Whomping Willow.”

Harry frowned. “What’s does night-duty mean?” He knew what night-duty meant, but night-duty on the Whomping Willow was likely to be completely different and utterly terrifying.

“Well, in this case it means try to make sure it doesn’t take out any night-wanderers or,” Dumbledore added, stroking his beard, “any unsuspecting first-years trying to sneak into the library to do homework due the next day.”

Harry smiled at the memory of himself and Ron staying up all night trying to do their homework without any books from the library. What a nightmare. Fourth year, hell, all the years, had been exhausting.

“Anyway,” Dumbledore continued, “I need you to stay here and watch the room. I’ll know if anything major happens because I’ll get alerted, I just need you here just in case you...” here, Dumbledore smiled knowingly, “....happen to run off.”

“Of course Professor.”

The headmaster stood up, and beckoned Harry to sit down in his chair.

Harry lowered himself tentatively into the large armchair and looked up at Dumbledore, his stomach twisting at the older man’s darkened eyes.

“Harry, you cannot leave this office.” Dumbledore said, a commanding edge to his voice that made Harry grip the armchair, fingers curling around worn leather.

“Not even,” Dumbledore continued, “to relieve yourself.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Professor-“

“I have to go Harry.” The headteacher said, and swept out of the room. 

 


End file.
